Forgiven, Not Forgotten
by Splash of Blue
Summary: Part song fic. Locked up in Azkban for twelve years... only one person cannot forget him. Only one can forgive...
1. Monique

A/N: My second songfic- the lyrics are from the song 'Forgiven, Not Forgotten' by The Corrs.  
  
Oh yes, and a coach in Britain means something kind of like a bus, but comfier and without the little tray for paying for the ride. It's usually used for longer distances. I have got no idea if you have them (at least, under the same name) in America, so I'm just explaining now.  
  
Forgiven, Not Forgotten  
  
I'm sitting there, staring out of the window of the coach at the rapidly passing countryside, but seeing nothing. All I can think of is his face- the expression on his face as he was told he was going to Azkaban. He couldn't have done it. He'd never betray James and Lily. Not in a lifetime. Not under torture. Never. Sigh. I'm just going over the same things in my head, all over and over again. It's all I can think about. I plug my headphones into the Muggle radio I bought the other day and start listening. Half listening, anyway. I can't really concentrate. I couldn't face all my friends after that day, that day when he was caught and sent to Azkaban. I couldn't face their sad, sympathetic looks. I couldn't face them, not when I know that they're all thinking the same thing. "How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen in love with a murderer? And how could she possibly try to defend him when the evidence was what it was?" I couldn't even face Remus and Arabella. Twelve years passed and I still couldn't stick meeting the guys, so I'm leaving. I decided on America, and I'm even going to change my name, just in case. No need to be ambitious- I'll just change my surname. Monique Westhaven, I think. Just unusual enough to be individual without really standing out.  
  
On comes the DJ's irritatingly chirpy voice. "And here's the latest single for The Corrs- Forgiven, Not Forgotten. It may be sad, but it's got more of that fresh new violin playing from Sharon Corr and her sister Andrea's vocals are just as sweet as ever. Oh, just listen, OK?"  
  
Something in my mind catches as the song plays. It's so sweet and so sad…  
  
All alone, staring on  
  
Watching her life go by  
  
When her days are grey  
  
and her nights are black  
  
Different shades of mundane  
  
And the one-eyed furry toy  
  
that lies upon the bed  
  
has often heard her cry  
  
and heard her whisper out a name  
  
long forgiven, but not forgotten  
  
The night after his "trial" I thought about ending it. Without him, what was there to live for? But then I realised that if I died, the last person to believe he could be innocent, then his hope would die too. I made a promise with myself that I wouldn't forget him. Whatever he did, and I definitely don't think it was anywhere near as bad as murder, it could be forgiven.  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're not forgotten  
  
I'd become an Animagus the same time the Marauders did. The girls did too, you know. Me and Lily and Arabella and Minerva. I became a jaguar. Minerva was a tabby cat. Lily was a snowy owl. And Arabella? Arabella was a wildcat. Typical Arabella. She was always nutty about cats, right from our first year at Hogwarts. I heard recently that Minerva and Arabella got themselves registered. I won't- it's useful being unknown. Me and Lily always were the wild ones. Just like him and James. I sneaked in to Azkaban in my jaguar form to visit him once. He looked so sad, so… dull. Withdrawn, that's the word. He told me the real story about what happened that Hallowe'en. He told me he'd kill himself if he thought I was in there again for him, so I daren't go. It'd be just like him, so wild, to kill himself.  
  
A bleeding heart torn apart  
  
Left on an icy grave  
  
And the room where they  
  
once lay, face to face  
  
Nothing could get in their way  
  
but now the memories of the man  
  
are haunting her days  
  
And the craving never fades  
  
She's still dreaming of the man  
  
long forgiven, but not forgotten  
  
He was like a drug. My Ecstasy, except now I can't get my next fix and I'm desperate. When we met, back in our first year, my addiction to him was just a tiny little pet. Now it's a great black horse that rides me every night. Always, always craving him…  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're not forgotten  
  
Suddenly something clicks in my head and I stop the coach, pretending to feel sick. I stumble off and disappear. Actually, I do feel sick. Sick with myself for even contemplating leaving him, and for leaving him alone in there, that god forsaken hell-hole, for more than ten years. I'm going back to Azkaban. I'll get him out, somehow.  
  
I Summon my luggage and Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Ignoring the curious stares from the customers, I engage a room for a week. I dump my stuff and Apparate once more, to the fortress this time. It's on a little island, way north.  
  
Still alone, staring on  
  
Wishing her life goodbye  
  
As she goes searching for the man  
  
long forgiven, but not forgotten  
  
Everything's grey or black here, even the grass. It's waist height and it scratches my legs and arms as I make my way closer to the great fortress, inch by inch. When I'm about ten metres from Azkaban, I transform. It's a wonderful feeling of freedom and sleekness and surefooted-ness, being a cat. Especially a jaguar. I prowl around for ten minutes looking for his cell, but darkness comes suddenly and there's no point in searching any more for today. With a bound, I'm away up into the hills. I settle down for the night, still as a jaguar. That night, just like every other night for twelve empty years, I dream of Sirius.  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're forgiven not forgotten  
  
You're not forgotten  
  
You're not forgotten  
  
No, you're not forgotten… 


	2. Escape From Azkaban

A/N: Hi everyone, I'm back again! I've been having some problems with this fic, but there'll be one more chapter after this one. Please review!  
  
Escape From Azkaban  
  
The massive, jet black cat approaches Azkaban warily, bathed in the lukewarm dawn light, all senses alert. A waft of a smell catches her flaring nostrils and she snarls, displaying perfect, razor sharp teeth. Cornelius Fudge! Prowling cautiously around the massive, grey-black fortress, she suddenly spots what she's looking for. A tiny window with the bars half broken. Someone has obviously attempted to mend it, but only half managed it. She leaps up to the sill and her weight breaks through much of the half-hearted mending. What she sees inside makes her stiffen with fear. A short, round man with an emerald green bowler hat is handing a man with lank, black hair and animalistic features a newspaper. Nothing very frightening, you might think. Except that the plump little man is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, and if he sees her, all hopes of a rescue are doomed, as is she herself.  
  
Terror suddenly loosens her muscles and she leaps downwards once more. As her weight ceases its pressure on the bars, the ancient metal makes a creaking noise and both men look up. Fear lights in the little man's eyes, but the other grunts and otherwise ignores it. After a few minutes' further talk, the smallest man leaves and the other presses his face between the bars, watching him leave. The expression on his face is terrible, a wolfish expression of burning anger and hate. Finally he looks at the paper the man has given him, and sees something- or someone?- he recognises. There is fear in those dark, brooding eyes now, an unmentionable, unspeakable terror, but not for himself. For a boy with messy black hair and a lightning bolt shaped scar…  
  
A sound of someone approaching makes him hide the newspaper swiftly up one sleeve of his robes. He dashes over to his meagre 'bed' and pretends sleep as a scabby, scaly hand, like that of a corpse that has rotted in water, pushes a few scraps between the bars. In spite of himself, the man ceases to pretend and falls into exhausted slumber, and the hand between the bars lingers a few moments more, listening to him whisper dementedly in his sleep.  
  
"He's at Hogwarts… my God, He's at Hogwarts… He's at Hogwarts!"  
  
~*~  
  
The jaguar's superb hearing tells her that the room's second occupant has vacated it, and she leaps back up onto the window sill of the tiny cell, breaking through all the mending this time. The sound of her weight on the metal wakes Sirius and he stares upwards, rubbing his bleary eyes.  
  
"No, it can't be… Monique?"  
  
In answer, the big cat leaps downwards into the room and lands on the dirty paving, shimmering upwards into a girl of not quite thirty years.  
  
She looks straight at him. "Me."  
  
His voice is hoarse. "But- but- I told you never to come here again!"  
  
"Yeah well, since when did the Marauders ever listen to anyone?" is the terse reply. "Are you and I both members of the greatest prankster group Hogwarts has ever seen or not?"  
  
Sirius rushes into speech. "Monique, we have to get out of here! Peter Pettigrew's living with Harry Potter's best friend, a boy called Ron Weasley. If we don't stop him, God only knows what he'll do to Harry!"  
  
Monique's eyes widen with sudden fear, but she replies wryly: "Why the hell do you think I came? To muck around in this hellish horror of a place and nearly get caught by none other than old Corny Fudgy- pants himself?"  
  
Sirius chuckles dryly. "I can think of a few reasons…"  
  
Monique slaps him briskly around the head. "Now, now, letch," she says sternly. "Watch what you're insinuating, you. There'll be time for that later- now, we've gotta get out of here!"  
  
"Not without my wand- it's in the office, a little room down the corner. Fudge and pals're still hanging around- how'll we get to it?"  
  
In answer, Monique abstracts a silvery-purple-blue cloak from her robe pocket. "I took the liberty of abstracting this from the trunk of a richer inmate at The Leaky Cauldron. He'll not miss it for a night or so- and if he does, who cares?"  
  
Sirius snickers. "You're a true Marauder, Monique James," he grins. "Let's try it on for size!"  
  
"Not me, idiot! You can get through those bars, but I can't. *You* look like you've missed a good few square meals, my boy!"  
  
"To hell with that," he hisses. "You wait for me outside, I'll get my wand and meet you in a couple of seconds, OK?"  
  
"All right," Monique agrees. "Just watch out for yourself, OK?"  
  
He nods, changing to a dog and pulling the cloak on, and vanishes in the same instant that she disappears through the broken window. 


End file.
